Experiements
by itsonlyforevernotlongatall
Summary: Sherlock and John are students at Hogwarts. Sherlock's trying to get his brother to give him some breathing space, by setting the Ravenclaw up with the captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team (Lestrade). But, his 'wooing' potion needs a guinea-pig. Who better than his best mate, John? Written on a prompt for dunstable on tumblr. Will be a tad more mature as it progresses.


As per usual, John had somehow, ended up agreeing to 'assist' Sherlock in his latest 'experiment', if the boy's potion making could be called that. It wasn't that John had anything against helping out his best mate, every now and then, but he really would have preferred if he didn't end up as a human guinea pig every other month. But, here he was, standing in an abandoned class room, holding out his hand to test the 'wooing potion' as Sherlock had called it. Normally, he wouldn't have been willing to taste test anything made by other students, but the Slytherin was exceptionally talented at potions. At near everything the boy put his mind to, if John was honest.  
"Alright, Sherlock. You're certain that this isn't going to turn me green or anything, 'cause I gotta say, green wouldn't suit me..." John smirked as he swirled the potion inside the small vial that had been handed to him. It didn't look as though it was capable of turning him any strange colours, or making him grow extra limbs, but he had been wrong before, so he thought it best to ask.

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes, as he pushed himself up to sit on a clean patch on the bench behind himself. "Honestly, John. You ought to have more faith in me, I wouldn't ask you to test something, if I wasn't at least 85% sure, that it's done correctly..." He paused, probably for some sort of dramatic effect "I wouldn't like for you to end up in the hospital wing, I'd be without a helper, and we really need to come up with something to make Mycroft piss off for a while."

John sighed, and nodded. Right, Sherlock had made this potion, to try and palm his elder brother off on some other, poor, unsuspecting student. Both, John and Sherlock knew that the captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team fancied Mycroft Holmes. But Gregory wouldn't do a damn thing about it, and Mycroft always had his damn nose in a book. So, they decided that if they successfully managed to slip Greg a wooing potion, it'd give him the little push he needed to approach Mycroft and ask him on a date. John was officially 'volunteered' by Sherlock to be the one to slip the potion into Greg's morning pumpkin juice seeing as they were both in the same house, it'd be 'easy' for him. The blonde turned his attention back to the small vile in his hand, visibly sucking in a deep breath, before lifting it to his lips. "Bottoms up, then." He cringed as the liquid flooded his mouth, and he swallowed as much as he could. "Ugh..." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "We definitely need to work on the taste... it's bloody foul, he'll... um.. Greg'll be able to taste it."

As soon as the vile made contact with John's lips, Sherlock was sitting up straight, hands on his knees, watching as the blonde swallowed his potion. He could feel his heart rate pick up, and the adrenaline start to course through his veins already. He always loved this part of his 'experiments' the most, the part where it all hung in the balance, just a split second before he knew if everything had been a success, or a complete failure. He cocked his head slightly when John mentioned the taste, but the boy didn't seem to be affected negatively, or positively in any other way. Sherlock frowned, slipping down from the bench, trying not to let his disappointment show, as he circled his friend. "John? Besides the taste, is there anything else?"

John shrugged his shoulders in response to the question, as Sherlock circled him, getting a little too close for comfort... "No, not that I can tell..." Another shrug of his shoulders. "Sherlock... will you just bloody stand still!" John had been about to reach out to grip Sherlock's upper arms to stop him, when his eyes flickered over his friend's body in annoyance, pausing for a fraction of a second longer on Sherlock's neck, than they really should have. Had Sherlock always been this pale? Why hadn't he noticed before? And why the hell was he noticing now? John gave his head a small shake, and pushed past the Slytherin, picking up odd pieces of equipment to wash as he walked to the sink at the other side of the classroom. "We might as well clean up then, will we just leave the cauldron full? You might be able to edit it or something..."

Sherlock had practically ignored everything John had said about cleaning up, and leaving the potion for the time being, he was too busy staring into the cauldron, trying to figure out where the hell he'd gone wrong. He had measured everything perfectly, cut everything up exactly... why hadn't it worked? He was /certain/ that this would have been it. He huffed, kicking the leg of the bench, making the table wobble slightly, splashing a small amount of the liquid onto his robes. "Dammit." He hung his head, pinching his black and green robes with his forefinger and thumb, holding the damp material away from his chest as he crossed the room, towards the sink. He really didn't want to walk around with a stain all day, the teachers were all mostly aware that he and John were involved in 'illegal' potion making, but seeing as none of his potions had ever been found to have 'adverse' effects on any of the other students, the idea made a small smirk cross Sherlock's face, they just hadn't been able to prove anything thus far... "John, pass me your wand? Mine's on the bench."

With a roll of his eyes, John done as he was told, and placed his wand into the outstretched, pale hand beside him, letting his fingers brush over Sherlock's palm in the exchange. He honestly hadn't thought of using his wand to clean up, being a half blood, he'd grown up in a semi-muggle household, and was rather used to doing chores by hand. Such as cleaning and washing. Not that he was allowed to do magic outside of school yet /anyway/, but his mother had always done things by hand. John always suspected that was just to make sure that she didn't unnerve his father. "You know, you could always just stop being a lazy git and walk back to the table to get it? It's not even that far, Sherlock..." John didn't receive more than a noncommittal grunt in response before his wand was thrust back at him. He took it, and tucked it back into his pocket, on the inside of his robes, before turning and leaning against the sink, arms folded over his chest as he stared at Sherlock. He felt his lips and the insides of his mouth tingle, but he assumed that was just to do with the foul taste of the potion. "So?" His eyes flickered over the taller teen, as they stood in silence.

Sherlock sighed, rolling a shoulder. "I need to do some calculations, work out where I went wrong. This is terribly inconvenient. I had hoped you could slip Gregory the potion, after the Christmas break." He wasn't sure that he could handle much more of his brother's meddling, even if he did 'have his best interests at heart' as John so often claimed. He could only be thankful that the sorting hat had the mercy not to place him into Ravenclaw with his elder brother. He shuddered slightly at the thought, only then noticing that John was staring at him. At his /mouth/ to be exact. "What?" He lifted his hand, brushing his fingers against his lips. "Do I have something on my face, John?"

John's face flushed slightly when he realized that he'd actually been staring at Sherlock's mouth, for far longer than was acceptable if the other boy was pointing it out. He gave a small shake of his head, before trying to backpedal. "Uh, yeah, actually. Just, here.." He pointed to the corner of his own mouth, a small, shy smile crossing his lips. "Just, sort of rub it with your sleeve." He tried his best not to laugh as Sherlock followed his instruction before shaking his head, and stepping up beside Sherlock, reaching out to pull the boy's hand away from his face. "Look, you'll be there all day, just let me?" He brushed his fingertips against Sherlock's lips, swallowing thickly as he did so, he hadn't expected to be allowed to touch him, never mind touch his face.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but allowed John to wipe whatever was on his mouth, off, what he hadn't expected though was the fact that John's hand lingered. Much longer than what Sherlock was sure was normal in such a situation, even with his lack of experience, he /knew/ there was something else going on here. "John?" He cocked his head slightly, reaching up to pull John's hand away from his mouth slightly. "Not that I have any issue with you touching my mouth... but do you wish to tell me why your hand was still on my mouth?" He let his eyes flicker down to John's hand, his own long, thin, pale, fingers wrapped around John's tanned wrist. "And perhaps why, there's nothing on your fingers, when you said I had something on me?" He wasn't cross, just curious, it wasn't like John to lie to him, or to lead him to believe something that wasn't strictly true, that was more Sherlock's area, than John's.

John's blush deepened by at least three shades when Sherlock called him out on his little 'white lie'. "Uhh..." He shrugged his shoulders, feeling much more calm than he really had any right to feel in such a situation, he felt his heart rate come back to normal, as he shrugged his shoulders, his mouth moving without his permission. "I wanted to touch your mouth." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, John took one, last, small step towards Sherlock completely closing the gap between them, before he stood on his tip toes, reaching up to press his mouth against Sherlock's. It wasn't until he felt the warmth, and unrelenting, solidarity that was Sherlock's mouth against his own, did he fully realize what he was doing. Not to mention the potential consequences of what he'd just done.

Sherlock was taken aback by the kiss to say the least, and about to push John away, when he felt a pleasant tingle running along his spine, which was when he decided, that yes. Sherlock Holmes liked kissing. He reached forward, hands twisting, and fisting in the loose fabric of John's robes when he felt the boy grow still against him, knowing that the panic would be setting in. A small voice somewhere in the back of Sherlock's mind was able to supply him with the fact that the kiss had most likely been a result of the wooing potion that John had ingested, though he could pick apart the situation and analyse it later, right now, there were much better things for him to be doing. He pressed forwards, pushing his body against John's, his novoiceness and slight desperation showing as their teeth clashed painfully. He sighed in frustration, more at himself, than anything else, when he felt a pair of shy hands place themselves low on his back, one trailing upwards, until it was resting against his cheek. Then John pulled back. "Gentle, Sherlock... Here, like this." John's voice was quiet, almost a whisper, and oh Merlin, John's mouth covered his once more. The kiss wasn't as sudden, or as rushed, or unsure as the first, but not as painful and demanding as Sherlock's had been. It was gentle, slow, caring. Sherlock sighed into the kiss, letting his eyes flicker shut as he relaxed, happy to follow John's lead for once.

When John did pull back from the kiss, it was merely due to the fact oxygen was starting to become an issue. He hadn't tried to deepen the kiss, well aware from Sherlock's hungry, painful, desperate kiss, that he'd never done something like this before, but he was hardly about to let the opportunity pass him by, to call attention to the fact that he was in fact better at something than Sherlock was. "You've never kissed anyone before."

"Shut up, John. " Sherlock's voice was deeper than usual, his lips a very nice shade of red and slightly swollen. "There's no need to state the obvious."

"Yeah, alright. No need to be a git, Sherlock. Just because we finally found something that I'm far better at, than you." John couldn't stop the smirk on his face from turning into a goofy grin.

"Yes, well. You've had far more experience in this area, than I. If I'm to believe the majority of our year." Sherlock smirked, letting his fingers brush over his lips as he stared down at John. The smaller boy looked slightly debauched, his robes wrinkled, from Sherlock gripping them, his lips swollen, pink, and wet from the kissing, face flushed and pupils blown slightly. Sherlock arched an eyebrow, reaching for John's hand, his fingers brushing across his wrist searching for his radial pulse. "My, my, John. Did our activities get your heart racing?"

John tried to pull his wrist from Sherlock's grip, but seeing as the damage was already done, his efforts were half-hearted at best. "Not sure I know what you mean, Sherlock..."

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes, moving his hand to rest against the side of John's neck, feeling his pulse there. "Your pulse is escalated, John. You're sitting at around 100 beats per minute, rather high for a young boy, as physically active as yourself, unless, it was our kiss that sent your heart into overdrive, so to speak." He removed his hand, brushing his fingertips against John's cheek instead, revelling in the sharp intake of breath, the action drew from John.

"Yeah. Yeah, alright. It was you, happy?" John snapped, trying to ignore the fact Sherlock was still touching him, and still standing in his personal space, also trying to get his breathing back under control before Sherlock noticed that too, but the small smirk playing on Sherlock's lips made John think, that somehow the bastard had already noticed it, and just hadn't said anything about it yet. "Smug bastard."

Sherlock let his hand fall away from John's face, nodding his head slowly in response to his question, and in response to his statement. "I can afford to be smug, I'm usually correct. Well, around 95% of the time. " He smirked, letting his tongue dart out and brush across his lips. "John, you realize what this means... my potion, it works." Sherlock grinned, walking back over towards the table, looking into the cauldron. "But, why did it take so long to cause you to kiss me?" He frowned, reaching for the ladle he'd been using to stir, giving the potion a half-hearted stir.

"I'm not sure, Sherlock..." John followed slowly behind Sherlock, standing on tip toe as he tried to peer over the taller teen's shoulder. "Well, um.. Sherlock? Maybe it only works, if there's already something there... Like a desire to want to kiss someone, or whatever, and it just needs the opportunity to strip you of the fear assosiated with acting on your desire?" John was could feel his blush creeping down his neck, and just /knew/ that his ears would be bright pink.

Sherlock hummed under his breath to show that he'd been listening as John spoke, before he turned to face his friend once more. "Perhaps." He sighed, looking from John to the potion, when he had an idea. "John, I apologise for anything that I do, whilst I am under the influence, but, I need to know if what you said is correct or not." Sherlock reached out for one of the spare, clean vials, and filled it with some of the potion, before bringing it to his lips, and swallowing. He gagged slightly, feeling his eyes sting. "Yes.." He coughed, trying to clear his throat. "I can see what you mean about the taste, it's utterly vile. We'll have to work on that." He placed the soiled vial down next to the cauldron, and chewed his lip as he looked at John. He certainly didn't feel any different, and John didn't look any different to him either. He had just about resigned himself to the fact that his potion hadn't worked after all, when John spoke up.

"Sherlock? Does your mouth feel strange? Mine sort of.. I dunno.. tingled?" John lifted a hand to his mouth as he spoke, pressing his fingers against his lips. "So did my tongue, well... not straight away, but like, right before I kissed you."

Sherlock had stopped listening after John's hand went to his mouth, his eyes glued to John's fingers as they pressed into his lips, causing his teeth to be visible between his lips. He felt his own mouth go dry, and licked his lips, trying to keep them moist. "John? Shut up." Slowly, Sherlock moved, and stood before his friend, walking forwards, pressing against him, until he heard the bench behind John scrape across the floor slightly. Now, that he thought about it, his lips /did/ tingle slightly. But that might have been the power of suggestion, he'd have to test the potion on someone else, and not tell them about the tingling sensation. Needed more data. But, right now, it could certainly wait. John's voice didn't even register with Sherlock, not when he was standing pressed against the smaller boy, or when he tilted his head to the side, nor when he pressed his mouth to John's in a kiss. As soon as their lips met, the cloud that seemed to have filled Sherlock's head vanished, and his eyes widened. Just what in the hell was he doing?


End file.
